Seeing

what you can't see
lies deep within;
those depths
hide the scars,
the cracks in belief,
the painful fears -
haunting memory -

you only see the blunted versions -
if you see me at all -
congealed together into the body before you,
these experiences are me;

what you won't see -
even if you look -
are the finer details:
the shape of the events
that left the scars -
their weight -
the thin cracks in this veneer

this isn't just me,
it is a truth for all;
hold your judgement close,
you don't know
what you don't see
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Healing

how long does healing take,
which matters more:
the size of the wound
or its location,
what if it's on the heart,

those wounds on the heart
hurt the hardest,
and stay the longest,
lingering in the scars formed
over these deepest of wounds,

perhaps in time they'll fade,
though never so far
they can't be plucked
back from memory;
we'll never forget
they are what made us
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Seasons Change

the memory of summer 
becomes more distant
as fall imposes a firmer hand;
the vibrant greens
shift to muddied yellows;
do not be fooled
by the fiery rainbows in the trees,
look to the ground:
the dying season is upon us;

spring will come again,
its green brightness followed
by the golden suns of summer,
Nature's promise: hope -
so too in the varied winters of life
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